


when we met

by haetae



Series: wanderer from the steppe [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trans Male Character, and also i want him to be HAPPY and LOVED, bcs im a sucker for thancred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 05:12:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16033667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haetae/pseuds/haetae
Summary: a study of how one masaki qestir and one thancred waters feel about each after some time working together.





	1. Chapter 1

Ifrit dissipates into aether, forced back into the Lifestream.

With great effort, Masaki sets himself upright and only stumbles a little. His mouth curls into a terrifying, triumphant grin. The fight with Ifrit drained his mana reserves heavily and left him with no small amount of injuries but he killed a  _ god _ . 

The Amal’jaa know this and howl in rage. One such worshipper tries to take a swing at the swaying Masaki but three knives suddenly embed themselves into their chest. Masaki blinks and stares dumbly as someone lands just behind the downed Amal’jaa. When the stranger turns, Masaki vaguely recognizes him as that white-haired hyur from before. The hyur opens his mouth to say something but then Masaki can’t hear him. Why can’t he hear him? He can see him speak but… 

The world begins to tilt. His sluggish mind finally makes an astute observation.  _ Oh _ , he thinks as the world blurs in slow motion,  _ I’m passing out _ . He tries saying something, anything, but his chapped lips crack and his dry throat protests against the attempt. Something yells in the background but he’s not sure anymore. He’s not sure anymore.

Everything turns black. 

… 

When he wakes up next, he finds himself in a stiff bed with a damp cloth on his forehead. A white-haired hyur paces at the foot of the bed. What’s his name again? Oh, right, his name is Thancred. Masaki shifts and pushes himself upright—the hyur is instantly by his side, hands hovering uselessly for a moment like he’s unsure what to do with himself. Then he quickly leans back and clears his throat. Masaki frowns as he gently peels off the cloth sticking to his forehead and gathers his bearings.

They’re in the little inn in Camp Drybone. There’s a rush of people just beyond his room—medics? Priests? He’s not sure—and a worried Thancred looking at Masaki like he’s going to collapse again. (As  _ if _ . A little heat and godkilling never killed anyone after all.) And something  _ reeks _ of death around here. It  _ always _ reeks of death but this time the smell is much stronger than it ever was. He covers his nose. 

“Wh…” Masaki winces at how much his voice cracks. He tries clearing his throat but Thancred gently presses a glass of water into his hands. With a curt nod, he gratefully chugs the water. His dry throat now refreshed, he tries speaking again. “Wha’ happen…?”

Thancred’s face twists into regret before it smooths out into the fakest smile Masaki has ever seen.

“Well! You’re the hero of the hour—what with killing Ifrit and all—and you fainted while we were escaping the Amal’jaa.” His painful attempt at being cheerfully charming withers. He hangs his head. “I… You could have died back there, all because I was late. I hope you can forgive me—”

“Is okay.” Masaki replies softly. Then he shrugs flippantly. “I lived. So dun worry.”

Thancred snaps his head up and opens his mouth to argue.

“Are you okay?” Masaki cuts in. He shoves himself out of the cheap cot, much to Thancred’s apparent bewilderment. Masaki takes a moment to stretch out his sore muscles and doesn’t wince when his spine pops. 

The hyur looks dumbfounded. “Pardon?”

Masaki rolls his eyes. He twists his torso—something else in his spine or hip pops at that—and shakes out his legs. 

“Are you okay?” he repeats patiently.

Thancred opens and closes his mouth. Compared to Masaki? He’s virtually untouched. Meanwhile, the auri man’s arms are bandaged from his fingertips to his elbow. Second- or third-degree burns of some sort. He’s bruised all over and it’s a  _ miracle _ he hasn’t broken a bone in his fight against a  _ Primal _ of all things. Is Thancred okay?

“I’m fine,” he answers smoothly. 

“Don’t lie,” Masaki snaps suddenly and that throws him for a loop. The au ra looks up from his bandaged arms to pin Thancred in place with an eerie stare. “You don’t sound okay.” Then his eyes soften in concern. “Wanna talk ‘bout it?”

Thancred isn’t sure how to deal with this.

 

* * *

“I got you,” someone assures Thancred in a hoarse rasp, solid arms protectively circling his prone body. “Don’ worry. I got you.”

Everything is blurry and acrid and unbearably hot. His throat hurts. Everywhere hurts.

“Don’ worry.” the blurry shape above him gasps as Thancred is jostled around. He finds himself being cradled in a seat between those arms and distantly hears the whir of machinery. “I got you.”

And Thancred believes that voice.

He drifts into oblivion. 

… 

When he wakes next, he stares up at a stone ceiling.

The first thing in Thancred’s mind is:  _ why am I not dead? _ The second thought that follows is:  _ what happened? _ He carefully takes stock of his surroundings.

He’s on an admittedly soft bed in a room with stone walls and stone floors, a natty rug being the only splash of color. Thancred slowly inhales. The air is sharp with the hint of lightning and heavy in his lungs. Mor Dhona. He slumps further into the bed. Everywhere feels  _ sore _ like he’d been tossed around in a whirlwind before being dumped on some cold, unforgiving ground somewhere. (He gets the sense that he’s very close to the truth.)

“Thancred?” a tiny, raspy voice whispers.

He turns his head to his side where mismatched, red rimmed eyes stare at him.

Masaki smiles and suddenly it’s as if the sun is smiling at him.

“You… you’re okay…?” he starts towards Thancred and stops short. Masaki maintains that polite distance between them, unsure if he should breach that space. But, eventually, he places his hand on Thancred’s wrist as if he’s handling delicate porcelain. (The metaphor almost makes Thancred laugh at its  _ absurdity  _ but there’s no other way to describe how gently Masaki touches him.)

… Thancred isn’t sure why his pulse is fluttering so much.

He opens and closes his mouth. Oh, good. He has at least some control over his jaw and mouth. There’s a distinct emptiness in the back of his mind and he doesn’t want to dwell on  _ what  _ used to occupy that space. He distantly notices that his lips are chapped when he licks them out of habit. As if on cue, Masaki reaches towards the nightstand and hands him a glass of refreshingly cool water. Thancred doesn’t realize how thirsty he is until he finishes his drink in large gulps. Masaki graciously takes his empty glass and sets it aside. Meanwhile, Thancred is still testing his jaw, mouth, and tongue because he  _ has _ to be sure that he’s in control of every part of his functions now.

“… How long was I out?” Thancred asks and he winces at the craggy quality of his voice. 

Masaki doesn’t seem to notice.

“A week now.” The au ra worries his lip and looks down at the bedsheets. “I’m sorry.”

Thancred furrows his brow. What could Masaki have done to warrant an apology?

He decides to lighten the atmosphere with a bit of teasing. “If this is about stealing my caramel tart, then rest assured that―”

“No!” 

The sudden shout shocks them both. Masaki instantly shrinks back, his face stricken with horror. 

“No… I…” he visibly struggles with his words, his hands trembling and his face twisted into something like regret. “I should’ve… done something. To help. But… I didn’t… ‘nd you got hurt…”

Much to Thancred’s horror, Masaki starts to sniffle.

“I… I had to h- _ hurt _ you… ‘m so sorry…” 

He hastily scrubs at his eyes to hide his tears but Thancred is already panicking. What are you supposed to do when people cry? Hells, he just woke up…

Thancred reaches out for Masaki’s shoulder but his hand hovers in the air, uncertain. He bites his lip and pulls back.

“Masaki,” he murmurs softly. “Masaki, look at me.”

The au ra sniffles again but he obeys. His eyes are bloodshot now and his nose red from crying but it seems that he’s stopped shedding tears for the moment. This time, Thancred places a firm hand on Masaki’s shoulder without any of the previous dithering.

“You saved my life.” Thancred says. “If you hadn’t done what you did, I wouldn’t be here right now.” 

Then he remembers the snatches of a voice reassuring him. 

“You were the one who carried me out of the castrum before it fell, right?” 

He’s treated to an interesting shade of red that blossoms on Masaki’s cheeks. Masaki looks away but Thancred can’t help the private, amused twitch of his lips. A wry grin settles on his face when he thinks about it. Huh. Silver-tongued bard becomes a damsel in distress and the hero of the hour saves the day yet again. He wonders if there will be ballads of Masaki heroically defeating the Garleans in the name of Eorzea and then his thoughts begin to diverge towards sonnets that describe the color of Masaki’s clear eyes, of that radiant smile lighting up a whole room, of… of… 

Oh seven hells. He’s in  _ love _ . Oh this is hideous. Awkward. Oh  _ gods _ this is not the kind of revelation Thancred wants to have when he’s still delirious from whatever drugs the medics gave him for the pain. He clears his throat and withdraws his hand.

“… ‘m glad you’re okay.” Masaki murmurs. Then he looks up at Thancred with a tiny grin that still manages to steal Thancred’s breath away.

This is going to be incredibly awkward when he finally snaps out of it.

“All thanks to you,” Thancred replies with a slanted smile.

Masaki reaches over and curls his fingers gently around Thancred’s hand and suddenly Thancred feels like his heart is on the verge of bursting.

“I dunno what I’d do without you.” he admits and Thancred is  _ sure _ he’s having some sort of delirious fever dream.

And then Masaki pulls away and lurches onto his feet. Thancred misses the warmth of his skin for a reason that he’d rather not think about too much. Masaki’s smile widens and it’s like the full force of the sun is lighting up his room again.

“Sleep. You need rest.” 

With that, Masaki leaves and carefully closes the door without a sound.

Thancred collapses onto his bed and stares up at the ceiling. A gentle breezes brushes against his face from an open window somewhere but he’s too busy having a quiet meltdown.

_ Since when did Masaki become that pretty? _


	2. forelsket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe he’s allergic to terrible pickup lines?
> 
> \--
> 
> cross posted from my rp tumblr for a drabble prompt.

 

 

At first, Masaki isn’t even sure what to call the feeling when he first experiences it. He lists off the symptoms in his head— _suddenly quick heartbeat, confusion, sweaty palms, rising heat in face, neck, and chest_ —but he can’t figure out what kind of sickness it is. A fever? A cold? A stroke? But it only happens whenever he finds himself near Thancred—who seems pretty weird enough with his pickup lines. Maybe he’s allergic to terrible pickup lines?

Then the truth hits him like a charging dzo when he waves to Thancred as the latter walks into the Waking Sands. Thancred smiles and waves back, then he comes closer to Masaki. The next thing he does is out of left field—he  _signs_. His fingers draw shapes that are instantly familiar, yet oddly foreign in their clumsiness.

Masaki doesn’t really understand until he signs again— _H, E, L, L, O_ —

“This is how you usually communicate, yes?” Thancred asks. Does he look… shy? Is that why there’s a tinge of pink on his cheeks? He continues with a hint of pride in his voice, “I picked up a little from my travels. I figured brushing up would make you feel a little more welcome here.”

Masaki blinks hard at him. Then he nods in a jerky movement, his mind finally catching up to the present. Something warm blooms inside his chest. Thancred is being thoughtful and kind. He doesn’t need to go as far as learning sign for Masaki’s sake, but the thought is… appreciated.

He touches his hand to his chin, then gestures outward. Thancred squints for a moment.

“ _Thank you_ …?” he echoes aloud, then his eyes light up in recognition. “Oh, it’s no trouble.” Thancred smiles and gives Masaki a hearty pat on the shoulder. (Did he just squeeze his bicep before pulling away?) “Looking forward to our next mission together.”

Masaki gawks at Thancred’s retreating back. The heat of his touch lingers on his arm.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from [here](https://questir.tumblr.com/post/183529860192/forelsket-the-euphoria-you-experience-when-you)! feel free to send me any kind of prompt there too.

**Author's Note:**

> this was SUPER self-indulgent and i'm sure i might've gotten thancred's character wrong but who cares!!! i'm just going to post this anyway!!! enjoy!!!!
> 
> EDIT: somewhat edited so it’s not as clunky! i hope y’all enjoyy


End file.
